


The Best is Yet to Come

by S_Faith



Series: Ella Universe [5]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-14
Updated: 2009-09-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 01:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: The best things in life are worth waiting for, and other later-in-life musings (and surprises).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I would return to the Ella universe, but there was something about this story, even Ella's growing and maturing, that was sort of calling to me. Plus, at least one person wanted to see a wedding for this particular Bridget and Mark. *grin*
> 
> Honest to goodness, I plucked this title from Frank Sinatra's "[The Best is Yet to Come](http://www.lyricsfreak.com/f/frank+sinatra/best+is+yet+to+come_20056364.html)"… and just now, while in the shower, it occurred to me that it's also in Van Morrison's "[Someone Like You](http://www.lyricsfreak.com/v/van+morrison/someone+like+you_20143117.html)". Talk about serendipity!
> 
> The parts are a little shorter than usual. It sort of had to be that way. Any typos or major flubs are mine alone. Thanks as always to M.
> 
> Disclaimer: It's my tangent, but not my characters.

It suddenly made sense why people said that rain on one's wedding day was good luck. There was really no way to make oneself feel better about the fact that it was pissing down on what was supposed to be the happiest day in one's life. Hunkering down over a toilet puking one's guts out probably could have, in a similar vein, been considered equally lucky.

She stood upright, thankful she at least had not yet put on her dress. She flushed then went to the sink, splashing her face to get the redness out, then swished out her mouth with rinse.

"Bridget? Everything all right in there?" Her husband-to-be, Mark, on the other side of the door.

"Go away!" she called back playfully. "I don't want you to see me."

"That's going to be a little difficult," he called back, "seeing as I need to shave and shower."

"Dad." Her stepdaughter-to-be, Ella. "Don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day? Go use my bathroom. I'll get your stuff."

She smiled, glancing up to the door of the bathroom just as the girl's bright, cheery face peeked through the widening crack of the door, but Ella's expression fell as she saw the state of dress—or lack thereof, as Bridget was only clad in a robe. "Good grief!" she exclaimed. "Why aren't you all made up yet?"

"Feeling a little nervous," Bridget admitted with a half-hearted grin. "Tossed my cookies just now, as you're wont to say. Or rather, my coffee."

"Oh no," she said, her wide hazel eyes filled with concern, but then she smiled. "I don't blame you being a little nervous, but really, this doesn't change a whole lot about things." Bridget felt instantly at ease at her innocent wisdom; she was right, of course. In the six months since this girl—and more significantly, her father—had come into her life, in the four months since she'd taken up residence under this roof, nothing had been quite the same, and she honestly wouldn't have it any other way. 

"Ella!" came Mark's voice again. "Shaving kit, please. I need to shower now."

"Better go," said Ella, her grin turning sheepish. "He won't say so, but he's nervous too." She grabbed his shaving kit, then headed out the door, calling back over her shoulder, "If you want my help, let me know."

She looked at her reflection in the big mirror and felt her stomach lurch again. 'A little nervous', nothing; she had never been so nervous in her entire life. 

The queasiness in her stomach did not abate, though she did her best to ignore it as she applied her makeup and fixed her hair with a thin, pearl-encrusted hair band amidst her loose curls, in lieu of a veil. They had opted to do a quiet, private ceremony at the Law Society Hall; with Malcolm Darcy's health much improved since his son's return to the UK, Mark's parents would make a weekend of it in London. With most of the old family friends now gone, it didn't seem sensible to have everything in Grafton Underwood.

As she put the dress on, looked at herself in the full length mirror, instantly wishing she'd been able to drop a few pounds prior to that day. She took in a deep breath, telling herself to forget such nonsense. Mark loved her as she was, and the shape of the dress was an utterly forgiving one: it was made of soft ivory silk, and it had a flattering, gently rounded neckline embellished with pearls, an empire waist and a slightly flaring a-line skirt that went to just above her knees. She smiled. It really was quite the find and she felt absolutely beautiful in it.

"Bridget! Aunt Shazzie is here."

She grinned; she loved how well Shaz and Ella got along, though had been a little worried that Shaz' natural tendency to use the f-word in great abundance would inadvertently influence the girl's vocabulary. Thankfully, to date it had not. "Come on in."

Ella came into the room, dressed in her own outfit for the day; it amazed Bridget how grown up she had started to look the closer she got to her sixteenth birthday, especially with her hair all pulled up and away from her face. Right behind her was Sharon, looking stunning in a green dress and upswept hair. "Look at you, Bridge," said Shaz. "You look fantastic."

" _You_ look fantastic!" Bridget replied.

"But it's your day," said Shaz with a grin, "and you look really great."

"I feel really great," she admitted, "aside from the legion of butterflies dancing about in my stomach."

"Are you all set?"

She nodded; she had her clutch packed and ready to go, and only need step into her shoes. Ella had already declared she would ensure a clear, groom-to-be-free passage on the way out, but for the ride to the hall, she would be accompanying her father. Fully prepared for her duty, she said, "Let me see if the coast is clear," before darting out of the room again.

"I should have made her wear flats," said Bridget with an air of amusement. "She's tall enough as it is."

Shaz laughed. "She was born with all the potential to be a stick insect ice queen… thank God she's been out of the clutches of her mother all this time."

"Even though she'd likely agree," said Bridget with quiet voice and a smile, "watch your volume. That stick insect is still her mother."

"Right-o." Faintly they heard Ella call out the all-clear, so they walked through the house, to the first floor, and towards where Ella stood waiting. 

"You look gorgeous," said Ella, beaming. 

"Thank you."

"This is, like, the best day ever."

"Go on back to your dad," teased Bridget, "and make sure he doesn't get caught up in an endless ascot loop. I'd hate for his first tardy appearance in our acquaintance to be on our wedding day."

Ella grinned. "See you in a little while."

They climbed into Sharon's car—she wondered if she hadn't made a mistake in not renting something a little more suited to the occasion—and they were on their way.

She was thankful that for an April afternoon it was not showering, which brought her thoughts back to good-luck rainstorms. Did it stand to reason that no rain was bad luck? A fit of irrational trepidation overtook her. This was the most right thing she'd ever done, and the two of them together had already slipped into a life that was both comfortable and yet exciting. There was really no big deal about making it permanent or legal, because she knew heart and soul this was what she wanted for the rest of her life. She knew that the nausea had nothing to do with logic.

It was, unfortunately, also very real.

"Shaz," she said desperately. "Pull over _now_."

"You are not backing out of this!" said Sharon. "This is the best thing—"

"No," said Bridget, her hand on her stomach. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Oh, shit," she said as she lurched the wheel to the left and to the kerb, threw the gear into park, then reached into the back seat for an empty paper sack and thrust it onto Bridget's lap. She was thankful for her overcoat and for the sturdy construction of the bag, and for not having too much in her stomach to begin with. It kept the dress from being a casualty of sick.

"Shazzie," said Bridget in a feeble voice afterwards. "Please tell me you have a box of mints."

"Bridget," said Sharon, digging into her handbag and finding the mints. "Are you sure you're all right? Jesus, you're white as a ghost."

"Just nerves," said Bridget, taking a deep breath. "I'll be fine. Go on."

"Hang on to that bag," warned Sharon, pulling back out into traffic again, but thankfully they managed to make it to the hall without further interruption.

She was immediately herded off to a room to keep her out of Mark's sight, and found two old friends waiting there to greet her: Jude and Tom. She was so happy to see them she almost began to cry, but was quickly admonished by Tom for doing so; Tom, whose years of domestic bliss in the US had done nothing to diminish his sense of the dramatic.

"Don't you _dare_ cry, Bridgeline," he demanded, taking her face in his hands and brushing his thumbs under her eyes. "You will ruin this _astounding_ makeup job. My God, you look fantastic. Living with Mr Perfect Pants has made you look twenty years younger."

"Very funny," she said, though she smiled all the same. She really hadn't seen Tom or Jude in far, far too long. As she contemplated the past, her eyes went teary again of their own free will.

"I said none of that," commanded Tom.

"No, no, I'm fine," she said. "Just thinking how I wish my mum and dad could be here."

The three of them smiled and exchanged glances. "Oh, Bridge, we know," said Tom. "Just think about how your mum is likely crowing now, boring God stiff with her bragging that you snagged Mark Darcy at last."

At this she couldn't contain a laugh, and embraced Tom again. "I have missed you so much," she said, her voice muffled by his hair. She pulled away to look at him. "Will you walk me out? Give me away?"

"Oh, Bridge," he teased. "I wondered when you might ask. Of course I will."

"And Jude," said Bridget. "I am so glad you could come after all. Is Richard here?"

She shook her head. "He had to stay behind for work, but he wanted me to tell you how he wished he could have come, and how happy he is for you."

The two friends embraced, and were just pulling apart when there was a knock at the door. "Bridget?" It was Ella.

"Stepdaughter," she explained, at which their brows shot up; Tom and Jude had not yet met her. Bridget then said, "Come in."

She stepped in, smiling shyly at Tom and Jude, bearing a small bouquet of white roses that she handed to Bridget. "I just wanted to let you know that Dad's here. He's ready and waiting, and we're gonna start very soon."

She felt her stomach do a little flip; it was nothing approaching the nausea she'd had earlier, which she was very thankful for. "Thanks. By the way, Ella, these are two of my very best friends in the whole world: this is Tom, and this is Jude."

"Nice to meet you," the girl said politely.

"And this is Elaine, Mark's daughter. Ella for short, to avoid confusion with her grandmother."

"Ah," said Jude. "Well, it's nice to meet you too."

"We'll talk later, I'm sure," said Tom, "but right now we have a wedding to go to."

They all walked out; Ella led them to where the wedding was actually being held, in one of the banquet rooms. Ella peeked her head into the room and gave the thumbs up sign, grinning like a maniac.

When the music started up—a violin playing the traditional wedding march—time seemed to go a little fuzzy and elastic; she remembered Ella walking in first, then Jude and Sharon, and then after slipping her hand through Tom's elbow, she took that first step forward into the room. She heard murmurs of approval from the assembled guests as she appeared, had a vague awareness of Jeremy and Giles from the office standing at the front of the room as groomsmen, but the only thing she truly saw with any clarity or definition was Mark himself, looking handsome in a crisp black tuxedo, a perfectly tied ascot, and a beaming smile on his face as he looked at her.

Tom did the honours of symbolically handing her over, kissing her cheek with a small sob he couldn't disguise before Mark took her hand with his own. The vows as legally required were read, and she replied accordingly, hardly able to take her eyes off of her imminent husband.

Ella had been entrusted with the rings, and she was called forward to hand them over in turn. Bridget's band was lovely and light, gleaming platinum to match her solitaire; his was a twin to hers yet was somehow more solid, though still gorgeous and looked so natural on his finger there she felt like she had to pinch herself to believe it was really happening, that he was really marrying her.

All of these thoughts were interrupted by the singular declaration that Mark could kiss his bride, and with that, with his tender look down to her and gentle kiss upon her lips, she snapped out of her trance to the sound of hoots and hollers of delight. She broke away, blushing furiously as she looked to her guests; it was not a large gathering, but it was all of the people she most wanted there.

 _Mum probably_ is _boring both Dad and God stiff with her bragging_ , thought Bridget with a smile, _and I'm not sure which is more horrifying_. She was a little sad at their absence, even though she never really felt that they were too far away.

She felt his hand slide along her waist, heard him whisper in her ear, "Third time's a charm."

It was exactly what she needed to hear at that moment; looking up to him, tears of happiness spilled down onto her cheeks as she laughed. She knew that at one time his first two failed disasters of marriages would have been a very sore spot with him, but now that he had (in his own words) gotten it right, he could make light of it, and had easily and frequently done so since she'd agreed to marry him. They stepped forward to sign the legal documents along with their witnesses before turning and facing their friends and family, her arm on his elbow, feeling like her face was glowing with happiness as she smiled more broadly than she had in years.

A young female voice rang out over the din: "I'm honoured to be the first to introduce you all to Mr and Mrs Darcy."

Bridget glanced over to see Ella grinning back at her; that kid had a set of lungs on her, and this time it had come in quite handy. Mark held out his arm and Ella came near to embrace him… to embrace both of them.

"This day rocks," she said quietly. Bridget couldn't help but chuckle.

"Yes," he said with equal solemnity. "It certainly does."

………

After some posed pictures during which pre-lunch appetizers and drinks were served, they talked to practically everyone in turn. Mark's parents hadn't looked so robust in ages; Mark attributed it to their contentedness with their son's life.

"Bridget!"

She turned to see Una Alconbury, widowed for about a year now, smiling brightly up at her; aside from looking older and a bit greyer, she was the same old Una with the pastel two-piece and effusive personality. She didn't see Una as often as she used to, but they talked occasionally on the phone. Bridget saw her as a surrogate mum of sorts.

"Hello, Una." She held out her arms to embrace the older woman. "So glad you came today."

"Wouldn't have missed this for the world," she said smugly, then turned to hug Mark. "And Mark, you're a real sight for sore eyes. Oh." She clapped her hands together and continued to grin. "Can't tell you how happy this makes me. I knew it all those years ago that you two were perfect for each other. Knew it." Bridget swore that she actually had tears in her eyes. "Just had a feeling, you know?"

Bridget looked up to her new husband and wondered if was thinking the same thing she was: _we should have listened to those bloody hens._

After fluttering a few moments more, Una went over to where the seemingly unchanged Penny Husbands-Bosworth was standing and chatting with the officiator of the ceremony. Mark slipped his hand around Bridget's shoulders and spoke quietly in her ear. "Your mum's got the heavens covered and Una, the earth."

It was spooky, almost like he had read her thoughts of earlier, and she looked up at him. Surprise must have been evident on her face.

"I'm only saying what I know you're thinking," he said; "well, that and Tom confided the same to me."

At that she laughed. With the way he smiled at her, she could only think herself the luckiest woman in the world to be so adored for laughing like a fool.

As they continued to mingle and prepare for the wedding lunch proper, Bridget felt a seed of nausea began to grow in her gut. She tried to ignore it, push it down, will it away, but it got worse and worse, until finally she could ignore it no longer without causing a memorable scene at her reception—and not memorable in a good way. "Mark, Penny," she said suddenly, interrupting Mark mid-sentence in conversation with the woman, "excuse me for just a moment. Thanks."

Without waiting for Mark to ask the inevitable probing questions, she bolted off towards the ladies in the hallway. She made it to the loo and to a toilet just as the sickness hit her. She was fortunate to not sully her lovely dress, appreciative that old, drinking-day habits hadn't faded away.

She heard the click of heels on the tiled floor. "Bridge?" It was Sharon. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," she said, exiting the stall, going to the sink to wash her hands then splash her cheeks with cool water. "Maybe I ate a bad hors d'oeuvre or something."

"Maybe you're just fretting about your honeymoon," she said with a smirk, "and leaving the lovely Ella with evil Auntie Shazzie."

"Oh, yes," said Bridget sarcastically with a wan grin. "I'm tearing myself up inside about something I asked you to do myself."

"Seriously, though," Shaz asked. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few days," she replied. "I'm sure it's nerve-related, and that this is just residual."

"Maybe it's a stomach bug," her friend responded. "Maybe you should get checked out before your trip."

There was at that moment a firm rap on the ladies' room door. "Bridget? Are you in there?" Unsurprisingly it was Mark's voice. 

She called back, "Yes, be right out." She held her hand out for a breath mint, which Sharon had anticipated and so put one in her palm. She popped it into her mouth, then strode out of the ladies to find Mark looking very worried.

"What happened?"

"A bit of a nervous stomach," she said. "All's well now."

He did not look convinced. "Ella told me that you were sick before, too. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Nerves," she reiterated, clenching her teeth slightly and feeling momentarily peeved at Ella for ruining the romance of the day for him. "Really, I'm okay."

"Maybe you should see the doctor before we go," Mark said.

"That's exactly what I said!" stated Sharon in a self-righteous tone.

"Really, all this fuss over an anxious bridal state," said Bridget.

The worried lines in his face smoothed out and he smiled. "It's my duty and pleasure to fuss over you," he said lovingly, placing more emphasis on the latter as he slipped his hand over the small of her back to pull her close and kiss her forehead. She thought all was smoothed over until he said firmly, "If it happens again, you're going, and I'll brook no opposition."

………

The indignity of spending what was supposed to be the start of her honeymoon sitting on a coolly impersonal examination table was almost more than she could bear, as if anything the doctor told her could prevent her from carrying on with said honeymoon. Sighing loudly in the hopes that Mark could hear her from the waiting room—likely impossible, but it made her feel better all the same to do it—she tried to think instead of the wedding itself with a glance to her left hand; the sight of the rings all snug together on her finger replaced the pout on her lips with a smile. She also thought fondly of their wedding night, filled with all manner of luxury, romance and pampering until she'd woken up that morning only to have to dash into the loo once again.

Which brought her to why she was here now. She frowned once more.

Her doctor had given her a thorough once-over at Mark's insistence, collected all of the standard bodily fluids, and asked that she be patient for a few until the lab results came back and he had a chance to look them over. She sighed again. They could have already been in the car on the way up to their little all-amenities cottage in the country.

After what felt like hours, the door peeped open and the doctor came back in. She had a very difficult time reading his expression. He had a manila folder in hand, came in without a word, just met her eyes then offered a small, polite smile of the sort doctors offer when they have bad news to impart.

She suddenly became terrified. "What's wrong?" she blurted out.

"Nothing's wrong," he said. "I'm just a little mystified."

She did not at all approve of her health being classified as a mystery. "What is it?"

"The results are back," he said, "and are normal across the board… but there's one result that quite astonishes me, all things considered."

She widened her eyes, anxious to hear the news. "Come out with it already!"

As her doctor told her, his smile turned into a more genuine one. 

She shook her head. "That's impossible," she said, her mind reeling.

"Improbable, yes; impossible, no."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

She was glad to have already been sitting, for surely she would have dropped to the ground. She stared out crazily at nothing, her thoughts turning over and over.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Obviously this is a big shock to you. Perhaps I should have gotten your husband."

"No," she said weakly, fixing her eyes on him again. "Big shock, yes, but I'd rather tell him myself."

"I'll have someone get him to walk out with you."

The doctor left again. She sat there, thankful she had already dressed herself, because she was not certain she could have done so on her own; she was still too stunned to process what the doctor had told her, and now she had to tell Mark.

The door opened again and she glanced up. He looked concerned as would be expected given that the nurse had just come for him, but when he had a moment to take in her undoubtedly pale and shaken visage, he looked positively stricken.

He came close, sat on the exam table beside her, and reached out his hand to take hers in it. Once firmly in place, he said calmly, "Whatever it is, we can handle it."

She felt her lip trembling. "Mark," she began, her voice papery. "It's… I, uh. I'm somehow… pregnant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Law Society](http://www.lawsociety.org.uk/home.law), whose hall Google indicates hosts wedding receptions. I'm running with it.


	2. Chapter 2

He blinked rapidly in his obvious bewilderment.

"I don't know how it could have happened," she said, though even as she said it she technically knew exactly how it had happened. Once the news was out in the open she couldn't stop talking, yet she could not gauge how he felt about it; she was not quite sure yet how she herself felt about it. "With the stuff I take and, um, my age, I don't really understand—"

She stopped talking because he had pulled her to him in a very tight hug. "Bridget," he said softly, his voice muffled by her hair.

From his reaction, from the single word he'd said, she still had no idea what he was thinking. The more she considered it, the more terrified—and excited—she became. Having a child together was just not something that had entered into her head as even the remotest of possibilities, and now, faced with the reality, she found she rather liked the idea. A lot.

Sure he had never himself considered it, either; she only hoped he felt the same.

"Mark?" she said tentatively, close to his ear. "Say something, please."

He pulled back to meet her gaze. She thought he looked happy, but sometimes it was very hard to tell with him, even still. "Sorry," he said at last. "I was just thinking." She didn't have the heart to ask him what about. He continued unprompted. "Which name I might like best if it's a boy."

She sputtered a laugh in her pleased surprise, reaching out to throw her arms about him. "Hoping you would be happy," she managed as tears started to flow.

"Glad you are too," he said, his arms coming up around her again, letting out a huge breath. "Though I can't help but remember how hard this is," he said gently, "at least this time I know I won't be doing it all on my own." He raised his hand to stroke her hair down before pulling back to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. She smiled.

A sound from the side of them reminded her that they were in fact still in the doctor's examination room. "Sorry to interrupt this happy moment," said the nurse, "but we have another patient to see."

Bridget giggled. "Oh, crikey, I suppose we ought to go."

He stood up then pulled her to her feet. On their way out they scheduled a more in-depth follow-up pregnancy visit for after their return, but Bridget hardly remembered the details for the sudden wave of baby-related thoughts she was having. Did she want to announce this prior to departing for their week-long honeymoon? What would her friends think? Even more importantly, what would Ella think? Would she resent the sudden appearance in her life of another child?

They got to the car before anything more was said.

"I think we should wait," said Mark, seemingly picking up on her thoughts as he put the key into the ignition. "We want to have a week to ourselves, and we'll have no peace if word gets out."

"What about Ella?"

The concern of her previous thoughts must have seeped into her tone, because Mark looked to her. "Darling, please don't worry about her. She's always wanted a younger brother or sister. When she finds out she'll be over the moon."

It relieved her to hear him say it. "I'm glad for that," she said, "but I meant telling her before we go."

He laughed at the misunderstanding. "Do you really think she could keep that secret?"

She chuckled. "No, I don't suppose she could."

The plan had been to leave the bridal suite they'd taken for the wedding night itself, stop home and get their things for more extended travel to Derbyshire, stop by the Shazzer's flat to say goodbye to Ella before driving up to their cottage. She knew they would both have to wipe the huge grins off of their faces lest suspicions be raised.

"We'll have to say it was just gastritis," said Mark wisely.

She nodded. With that, he started the car and pulled away from the kerb to off to the house.

………

"Didn't think it would be old home week," said Bridget upon arriving to Sharon's flat—which used to be her old flat—to find that Jude and Tom were also there, and they were eating lunch around the coffee table in the living room, the adults on the sofa and Ella on the floor. They were partaking in pizza with all the toppings and Sharon's favourite Chardonnay. Usually Bridget would have been salivating, but the smell of the pizza actually made her a little queasy. "Little early for wine, isn't it?" she quipped to get her mind off of it.

"Shut up," said Jude as she lowered her glass. "I'm enjoying my last afternoon of freedom before heading back."

Realising that her friends would go so far away again to their respective homes made Bridget feel a little overly emotional, and she felt her eyes get misty.

"Have some," said Shaz, "to take the edge off of your passengerial duties up to the country."

"No," said Mark quickly, a huge smile on his face. "She can't." Bridget felt panicked; never mind the grin, they all knew that Mark always drove. Possibly at his wife's reaction, he added quickly, "In case she has to take the wheel."

Suspicions had not apparently been raised.

Also to her relief she saw that the three of them had not actually set wine down in front of Ella, who now asked, "All's well at the doctor's then?"

Bridget nodded.

"Gastritis," offered Mark with another smirk he was fighting to suppress—and losing the fight.

"Gastritis?" asked Ella, raising a brow, pizza poised before her mouth in order to take another bite and like any teenager, she chewed and swallowed far too quickly.

"Yes, yes," said Bridget, perhaps a little too vehemently. "Stomach upset."

"I know what gastritis is," said Ella, looking from Bridget to her father. "You just look a bit too hap—" As she stopped speaking midsentence, as her features changed, Bridget knew that Ella knew, or at least suspected. She set down her half-eaten pizza and scrambled to her feet. "Oh my God!"

Bridget looked over to Mark, who looked appropriately chastened.

" _What?_ " asked Sharon, Tom and Jude in unison.

"No wine? All smiles at a diagnosis of gastritis? Throwing up?" she asked triumphantly. "Come on. I'm not dumb."

"Apparently I am," said Shaz peevishly, "because I have no—" She also stopped short, and paled a bit. " _Bridget_. It wasn't nerves at all yesterday, or the day before, or the day before _that_ , was it?"

There was no getting around the escalating inquisition. "I guess it wasn't," she said meekly. Ella threw one arm around her and the other around her father simultaneously.

Shaz covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the shriek. Jude had also twigged and muttered in open-mouthed surprise, "No way. No way!"

Bridget smiled and felt her expression slide into something approaching sheepish.

"Well. When I said twenty years younger," said Tom smoothly, "I guess that wasn't an exaggeration." The three friends rose and waited for Ella to release her grip on the two of them before offering their own hugs and congratulations.

"Wow," said Ella, still clearly dumbfounded. "I can't believe it."

" _You_ can't believe it?" said Bridget as she and Mark were herded to sit on the sofa. "Could you get the pizza out of here?" she asked Shaz. "Stomach."

"Must be an alien life form," said Sharon as she obliged, "for Bridget to be pushing pizza further away from her." Mark chuckled.

"You really had no idea?" said Jude.

"Not a one," admitted Bridget. "After all, the pill I take— _was_ taking—for the hormone wonkiness is after all a… well, is _supposed_ to… you know." The longer she spoke, the less she wanted to actually say 'birth control pill' in front of Ella.

"Determined little bugger," said Tom.

"Maybe the dose was _too_ low," offered Mark with another smile. She turned and playfully punched his upper arm.

"I was going to ask you how your evening went," said Jude, "but this kind of takes precedence, far and away."

"The evening was in fact wonderful," began Bridget, then decided once more to censor herself in front of his daughter. "As for this—" She patted her abdomen. "—you know pretty much what we do."

"How far along?"

Bridget shrugged. "They weren't able to tell me exactly, but with the nausea and…" She bit her tongue a third time; she didn't want to talk about being irregular and missing cycles in front of Ella. "Well, I'd say at least a month."

Ella's face lit anew. "Wait 'til Granny finds out!"

She looked to Mark again. There was no way Ella was going to be able to keep quiet, and they both knew it. "El," said Mark, "would you like to be the one to tell her?"

"OhmyGod _yes_!" she said in a rush, rising from her perch on the arm of the chair and dashing for her little handbag, presumably for her mobile.

"Sweetheart," said Mark. "I didn't mean this very moment."

"Oh, let her do it," said Bridget quietly. "She won't be able to contain herself otherwise."

With a gleeful grin she punched the buttons on her phone, and looked like she might burst with excitement until her grandmother picked up. "Granny!" she exclaimed. "You're never gonna guess the news!"

"For God's sake," Mark chided gently. "Don't give her a coronary or anything."

"It's Bridget!" said Ella, seemingly ignoring her father. "She's gonna have a baby!" The five of them all watched as the girl's features, so animated and excited, slowly returned to their normal state, then go a little glum. "Yeah," she said flatly, evidently in response to something her grandmother said. "They're right here. Hold on." Ella looked to her father and held out her phone to him. "She wants to speak to you."

Bridget's stomach fell to her feet, sure that for whatever reason Elaine Darcy hated the idea.

"Hello, Mother," said Mark, his eyes meeting his wife's and taking her hand with his free one. "Yes," he continued. "Yes, it is true." There was a silence and finally she saw him start to smile. "Of course. I'll put her on." He then passed the mobile to her. Ella was saying something in the background but Bridget's heart was pounding too loudly to hear.

"Hello, Elaine," said Bridget in a more timid tone than she intended.

"Bridget, my dear," she said brightly, dispelling Bridget's terror. "Congratulations. What wonderful news! You must be _so_ surprised."

"I am," she said, then amended, "I _was_."

"I'll be honest," said Elaine; "I thought that granddaughter of mine was kidding."

She suddenly understood Ella's reaction; Elaine had clearly given her a stern word about making up stories. She grinned, even laughed a little, cradling the phone with her hand as she looked to Mark. "Yes, it's rather hard to believe."

"What a way to start off a marriage with a bang," Elaine said in all good humour. "The two of you will be wonderful though, and I'm sure you'll have lots of help."

"Yes," Bridget said, suddenly imagining a legion of nannies.

"You'll need it," she continued. "It's worth every moment, but so much work when the baby's small. It's draining enough when you're a young parent, but being an older one…" Elaine drifted off. "But no matter. Wait until Malcolm hears. He'll be thrilled."

"Please send our love," she said automatically, her mind turning over what Elaine had said about being older parents. "We're off to Derbyshire."

"Have a wonderful time on your honeymoon," said Elaine. "Make sure Mark treats you like a queen."

"He always does," she said, her spirits a bit restored, but she was a tiny bit troubled all the same. "I'm sure we'll see you when we return."

With that they said their goodbyes and Bridget disconnected the call, handing the phone back to Ella, who looked smug yet a bit offended.

"Can you believe she thought I was making that up?" Ella snorted.

"It is a little unbelievable," said Jude, grinning.

With that they rose to make their exit, hugs and kisses all around, and an extra long hug for Jude and Tom, whom she would not see again before they returned to their respective abodes. "I wish you lived closer," said Bridget sadly to her far-flung friends.

"I can still be a bad influence from afar," declared Tom with a cheeky grin.

Mark saved hugging his daughter for last. "Behave yourself," he said gently.

"I will," she replied. 

"Yeah, usually she's hell on wheels," said Sharon, with a wink.

………

"Bridget."

It was Mark's voice penetrating her fugue state, one she'd fallen into since they'd taken off on the drive to Derbyshire. Her brain had been in overdrive, thinking about the ramifications of being parents later in life; would she have the strength or the energy to do it? What if Mark really had had his fill of parenting with Ella, marrying Bridget with the intent never to do so again, and for her sake was keeping up the appearance of a proud papa?

"Yes?" she asked, snapping out of it at last.

"What did she say to you?"

"Who?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"My mother," he said, glancing momentarily at her. "You've been in a trance since you talked to her."

"She didn't say anything," Bridget fibbed.

He did not reply immediately; he was clearly considering changing tack. "Tell me what her exact words to you were."

She realised he was not going to let this go. "That she was happy for us, that we would be great parents, that she knew we would have lots of help," she began, then hesitated before continuing, "because parenting was exhausting enough for young parents, let alone older ones."

She saw his jaw firm up.

"I'm sure she meant nothing by it," Bridget added quickly.

"But that hasn't stopped you from obsessing about it," he said quietly.

"A bit," she said.

That at least made him smile.

Swallowing hard, she decided the best route would be the direct one. Watching him scrupulously, she asked, "You'd tell me if this wasn't something you really wanted to get into again, wouldn't you?"

"Bridget," he said after a moment of silent contemplation, "if there was one woman in existence with whom I wanted to bring life into the world, she'd be you. That it happened to be later rather than sooner is of very little consequence to me."

Her eyes went misty. "If you weren't driving," she said, "I'd kiss you senseless."

At that he chuckled and stretched his hand out towards hers to claim it. "And yes," he said, "I do intend on taking full advantage of hired help."

The rest of the drive to the country cottage was pleasant and uneventful; as with any drive of significant length (such as trips to Grafton Underwood), her drifting off to sleep was something that never bothered him, and it was engine being disengaged that jarred her awake. She looked around to find him taking the keys from the ignition then turning to her with a smile. "Was just about to wake you," he said. "We're here."

"I gathered."

"Wait here. I'll check us in."

He went into the main building while she waited in the car, then returned and drove them to their cottage. It was cosy and surrounded by huge shade trees, which helped to seclude it even further from neighbouring cottages. It was absolutely beautiful and totally romantic. She smiled and very much looked forward to their week together in such seclusion.

He opened her door and as she rose to her feet, he swooped her up in his arms to carry her through the open door and over the waiting threshold. "Mark," she said, helpless with laughter. "You did this bit last night at the hotel."

"Your point?" he asked, kissing her, then walking into the cabin with her.

………

The evening was absolute perfection; a delicious candlelit dinner, soft music and a light dessert before retiring to the luxurious king-sized bed for a long evening together of tender intimacy. Curled up warmly and securely in his arms, with the moonlight making the curtains glow, with his chest rising and falling beneath her in slow and steady breaths, she felt completely and utterly blissful.

…Until her mind sabotaged her with thoughts of what it might be like to be an older mum: meeting the other mums at school and being old enough to be their mum, too; seeing their child graduate from university and needing to be assisted to the graduation ceremony; living long enough to see possible grandchildren.

"What's wrong?" murmured Mark, startling her a little because she thought he'd fallen asleep. Somehow, he knew. She wondered how, until he went on: "You just went all tense on me."

"Just my brain churning up senseless thoughts," she said. "Nothing to worry about."

"What do I have to do to banish such thoughts?" he asked.

She managed a light laugh. "Promise me we'll get no older," she said half in jest, "or possibly that we'll live forever."

He shifted to pull her up closer to him, lavishing her with long, languorous kisses, his hands firm on her bare back.

"Mmm," she said as he nuzzled tenderly into her neck. "That'll do, too."

………

Lovely as the stay was, at the conclusion of the week they set out to return to London and to the reality of life, which meant getting Ella (assuredly still hyperactive at the thought of a younger sibling), returning to work, and beginning to make all of the plans that one must make in preparation of an impending bundle of joy.

Ella had her own ideas for names, announcing over breakfast one morning shortly after the return from the honeymoon: "I love Granddad, but please don't name him Malcolm if he's a boy. Malcolm is not a baby's name."

Bridget pursed her lips to suppress a smile.

Very seriously, Mark asked, "Do you not think that your grandfather was a baby once?"

"Well, yeah," she said, digging into her bowl of cereal, "but that was, like, an age ago when kids wore breeches and caps and stuff."

"And rolled barrel rings with sticks?" asked Mark.

"Exactly."

Bridget had to bite down on her lower lip to stop from laughing out loud.

"El, what do you think about—" He paused to glance over to Bridget. "—Colin for a boy?"

A wave of emotion washed over her as she watched Ella think about her answer. "Mm, yeah. That'd be cool."

"Doesn't conjure up visions of newspaper boys wearing hound's-tooth and calling out 'Read all about it!'?"

She giggled. "No."

"I'm not sure I could take naming my daughter Pamela, though," Bridget said. "It would seem like some kind of vicious circle—thoughts of her shouting at me whilst I'm shouting at her."

Mark chuckled and agreed. Ella looked perplexed.

"That was my mother's name."

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry I never got to meet 'em. I'd've liked to have another set of grandparents."

"What about—" she began, then stopped at Mark shaking his head, and she understood: _go no further—I'll explain later_. "They would have liked you a lot, my mum and dad," Bridget said instead.

"Oh," she said. "Colin was your dad."

"Yeah," she said. "You'd've really liked him, and my mum… she'd've made you mental."

She saw Mark smiling wistfully.

"Then I think it's settled," pronounced Ella. "For a boy, anyway. Hm. Unless you want a Mark junior, Dad."

"No," he said quickly. "The duplicate Elaines are confusing enough." He regarded his daughter thoughtfully. "So you're quite sure on that name?"

"Yup," she replied.

"Just as long as we've got your approval."

She threw him a dirty look. "Now you're just teasing me."

"Yes," said Mark, "and now I'm telling you to go get ready for school."

She hopped up. "Remember, I'm going to Betsy's after."

"You're what? Since when?" Mark was completely caught off guard.

Feeling foolish, Bridget said, "She told me about that the other day, Mark, and I didn't any reason why she couldn't. I'm sorry—I meant to tell you."

He looked to Bridget; his expression was very difficult to read. "No, that's fine," he said. "She's going be sixteen in just a couple of months. She's not a child anymore—sometimes I just forget that."

"So, it's okay?" Ella. Bridget had almost forgotten she was standing there.

"Yes, of course it's okay," said Mark, looking more like himself. "Betsy's a good kid. I like her."

"So do I," said Bridget.

"Awesome. Thanks again." With that she bounded up the stairs to the main floor of the house.

Bridget brought her decaffeinated coffee to her lips and sipped, her eyes not leaving Mark. He still had a rather distant expression. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

His focus sharpened as he turned his gaze to her. "What? Yes, of course everything's okay," he said.

She didn't want to be a nag, but she recognised discontent when she saw it. "Are you sure?"

He pursed his lips, looking to breakfast once more. "It's nothing. Just something I'll need to get used to."

"What, Mark?"

She saw one corner of his mouth turn up in a rueful smile. "Having a parenting partner."

She smiled unabashedly, then reached across the table to rest her hand atop his.

"I have to get used to remembering that I am not necessarily the place where the buck stops these days," he continued.

"It doesn't bother you—" she began hesitantly.

He interrupted her, anticipating her question. "Absolutely it doesn't bother me that you make decisions regarding Ella. Never doubt that."

"Okay," she said. Deciding to change the subject, she asked, "So about her other grandparents…?"

"Very tactful of you, darling," he said. "They didn't approve of me."

Bridget couldn't help snorting a laugh. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I just can't imagine anyone finding anything to disapprove of in you."

He actually smiled a little. "They claimed I didn't love her."

"Did you?" she asked automatically.

"No," said Mark so quickly it was obvious he didn't have to think about the answer for a moment. 

A fleeting melancholy shot through her as he said this, anger at the lies that had kept them apart, the memory of the loneliness, and regret for the years apart; she didn't realise she'd looked down to her hands until he reached to tip her chin up with his finger.

"Hey," he said in an affected stern tone. "I know what you're thinking, and I'll have none of it."

She sighed, offering him a smile. "I know. Can't help it, though." She sipped her coffee again, having sort of lost her appetite for her breakfast. "What about Ella? They might not have approved of you, but shunning their own granddaughter seems to go against all that's natural and right."

"Her parents—whom I met once—made her seem touchy-feely by comparison," he said wryly. "I can't recall if they ever even met Ella. No, no, I'm sure that they didn't, perhaps a perfunctory birthday card on her first birthday. They were certainly not interested in us once they'd been proven correct."

"People change though," she said. "Maybe they've softened with age. Maybe they—"

"I wrote them ahead of our move here," said Mark. "Never told Ella I'd done so in case they never contacted us. I was unfortunately right."

"Sorry," she said. "I'll drop it."

"Bridget, love," he said, grasping her hand again. "I know your heart is big, and I love that. This would be an exercise in futility, even for you. Trust me."

She squeezed his hand in return. It saddened her to think of such cold people in the world, hearts turned against their own flesh and blood. At least Ella had her father, and now her stepmother, as well as the extended family of Sharon, Jude and Tom, even as geographically remote as the latter two were.


	3. Chapter 3

Although Ella was initially excited about news of the pregnancy, it became clear that while her happiness was genuine, she was also a little more distant and not as bubbly as usual. This change in attitude seemed to coincide with any discussion of the baby. Bridget herself had never had to compete with a sibling for her parents' attention, but understood how subconsciously Ella might have felt left out; after so many years of having her father to herself, she now had not only to compete with a wife but a child for her father's notice.

Bridget therefore decided to make Ella very much involved in the whole process. Having put the idea in Ella's head that she and Mark were having a terrible time thinking of names, it got the girl's mind to working on a solution; she liked thinking the idea was her own, and Bridget was all too glad to oblige. They had also planned a shopping excursion of massive proportions that upcoming weekend: maternity wear (as Bridget's 'fat clothes' would not be able to serve the purpose for too much longer), nursery furniture and décor.

Mark had noticed the effort and thanked her for it; not in so many words, but with the way he looked at her like he was concentrating on a very important task before pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss, the quiet "I couldn't have picked a better stepmother for her" that he whispered in her ear, she hardly needed to hear the actual words 'thank you' themselves.

Ella ended up staying at Betsy's for the evening again, and for that, Bridget was thankful. Mark took her out for a romantic supper, then they returned home and spent the evening in the bedroom; days of youth might have meant a boisterous shagathon, but for the two of them, it meant peace and quiet, undisturbed time alone, reverent caresses (particularly to her abdomen and the wonder of the tiny life inside), and long, sensual kisses evolving into tender lovemaking.

Ella returned just after breakfast looking like she hadn't slept all night—it would have been typical for she and Betsy to have stayed up all night goofing around, watching movies and feeding off one another's silliness. Bridget, on the other hand, felt unbelievably refreshed and well-rested. The playing field was thus levelled for shopping; Bridget would be able to keep up with the usually energetic teenager.

"Did you sleep at all?" Bridget asked. "Be honest."

"Yeah," she said, yawning. "A couple hours."

Bridget fought a laugh. "Do you want to postpone?" she asked.

"No," Ella replied quickly, as Bridget knew she would: being sleepy was no excuse for not shopping, plus she was enough like her father that if she made a promise, by God, she intended on keeping it.

Once they got to the actual shopping, Ella perked up considerably, offering enthusiastic opinions about prams and cribs and mobiles for entertaining the newborn. There was a point, though, during their break in action for lunch, that Ella became quiet again. Bridget wasn't sure about prodding the girl for details, but decided to do so anyway.

"Something troubling you, Ella?" 

"Hm," she said noncommittally, swirling her straw through her glass of apple juice and watching the process intently. "Nothing much."

"Ella," Bridget said again with emphasis. "You can tell me."

Ella raised her eyes, smiling reluctantly. "I know. It's just… I don't know. I feel like I ought to know what to do, and I don't."

Bridget tried not to invent catastrophes in her head. "I might. Try me."

"Well." She cleared her throat. "I kind of… well, sort of… know this boy named Liam."

Bridget felt her brows rise of their own accord. "Liam. Nice name."

"Yeah." The apples of her cheeks turned a little pink. 

It dawned on Bridget the reason for the blush. Ella had a bona fide crush. "You like this Liam, don't you?"

She shrugged, looked down, but smiled all the same. "I guess."

"You guess." She grinned, fondly recalling her first crush. "So what does he look like? Tell me about him."

Once prompted, Ella couldn't sing the praises of Liam enough: swooningly tall and handsomely fit (he played football), he had dark curly hair and, in Ella's words, the most amazing sapphire eyes. Nobody had a bad word to say about him, she gushed on, and he was kind to everyone.

"He sounds perfectly lovely," said Bridget approvingly. "So what's the problem?"

"Well," she said, crimsoning again. "He has more girls after him than you can believe. He'll never notice me."

Looking at the pretty young brunette before her, tall and thin (and as warm as her mother was not), she scoffed. "I doubt that. Does he actually have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Is he gay?"

Ella burst out laughing. " _No._ "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, grinning; her mood had definitely improved since opening up to Bridget.

"And how do you know he hasn't noticed you?" Bridget asked. 

"When he looks my way, he looks down or away really quickly."

Bridget thought that rather sounded like the opposite of not noticing Ella, but decided not to raise hopes unnecessarily. "So you want him to notice you," said Bridget.

"Yeah," she said.

"Hm," said Bridget thoughtfully. "Well. He must be blind not to notice you, but I daresay we can step it up a notch."

Her eyes went a bit round. "Like what?"

"Well," she said. "A new dress maybe, or a skirt, or a few outfits. And you're going to be sixteen."

She nodded vigorously; it amused Bridget how eager the young were to grow up.

Bridget smiled, thinking fondly of her own mother's one-time pestering as she suggested, "Perhaps Colour Me Beautiful?"

It was frankly astounding, the escalation in excitement and energy. She didn't think Miss Two Hours Of Sleep had it in her; it must have been the recharge of food. "You don't think I'm too young?"

"I'm certainly not going to let you walk out of there looking like Barbara Cartland," said Bridget, "but there's no sense in not teaching you good skin care and good makeup habits while your skin is still young."

Ella drew her brows together. "Looking like who?"

"A ridiculously made-up—oh, never mind." She regarded Ella with a playful sidelong glance. "Ever considered a haircut?"

Ella blushed and grinned. "I don't know what my dad would think, though—about any of it."

"Your dad knows you're growing up," she said; her hand covering her slightly but definitely protruding belly, she added, "and soon enough he'll have an actual baby to fuss over. And besides… once it's done, there isn't much he can do, is there?"

Ella looked happy though apprehensive. 

"He won't be angry," she assured. "It's just some hair and a dress. And if he is, I'll take the heat."

Ella burst out with a laugh. "Okay then. When do you think we could do it?"

"How about now?"

Ella blinked rapidly in an endearing manner most like her father. "Now?"

"Why not? No reason we can't treat you this afternoon. This baby already has some clothes and something to sleep in; what more is needed? Besides, I really want to show you how much I appreciate your help."

After using her mobile to make an appointment for makeup and hair, lunch was thus hurried along so that they might spend some time looking at clothes beforehand. They did manage to find a lovely dress, a fitted denim jacket, a skirt, a top, and a new pair of jeans before the appointed hour of the haircut.

When the hairdresser saw Ella's thick mane of long, straight brown hair, he whistled. "Your hair's in great shape," he said in a lilting Welsh accent, "but I'm tempted to clear my calendar for the rest of the day to get through it all."

They had a brief discussion about what she might want to do with her hair—nothing too short, she decided, or too radical—and decided something just a little beyond her shoulders with a bit of layering would work best. In the end, after the judicious use of a straight razor, she was left with a long layered cut that had tons of body, was extremely flattering to her face—and brought her suddenly from older child to young woman. The makeup session reaffirmed this perception.

"You look beautiful," said Bridget. Ella blushed. "If Liam doesn't notice you now, he's either blind or really is gay."

Her stepdaughter laughed outright. "This was a fantastic treat. Thanks so much, Bridget." She looked thoughtful as she gathered up as many carrier bags as she could manage. Bridget was about to ask when Ella explained the reason for her introspection. "Does it bother you that I call you by your name, and not, like, 'Mom' or something?"

"Not at all," she said quickly. "You already have a mum. I'm not trying to take her place."

"I know," she said. "Even though you kind of already have." She smiled affectionately.

Upon arriving home, Mark seemed poised to asked who Bridget's friend was and where was his daughter, when it occurred to him that the friend was in fact said daughter. He looked quite surprised but said nothing.

"What do you think?" Ella asked excitedly, turning in a circle to show off her haircut. "We went shopping, too."

"I thought shopping was for the nursery," he asked neutrally. Ella's features conveyed her disappointment.

"We had enough for the baby," Bridget interjected, giving him a hard look. "I thought Ella could use a bit of attention."

"You aren't angry, are you?" asked his daughter.

He turned back to Ella. "No," he said quickly. "I'm not angry." He might not have been angry, but he was definitely upset about something. "I'm just a bit taken aback at… how grown-up you look. It's lovely. It really is." He smiled at last, stretching his arms out to embrace her. "Sometimes I forget you're not my little girl anymore," he said soothingly.

"Oh, Dad," she said. "I'll always be your little girl."

At this Mark looked as emotional as she'd ever seen him, but only for a moment before he released her from his arms. "Suppose I'll have to beat the boys back from the front porch with a cricket bat before too long," he said in jest. As he said it, Ella flushed deep crimson.

"I… promised Betsy I'd call her when I got back," she said hurriedly. "I'll just… um, take my things upstairs." With that she grabbed all of her bags and shot up the stairs with nary a backward glance.

Mark's expression verged on whiplashed. "What was that all about?"

"She has a serious crush on a boy named Liam," said Bridget quietly.

Mark made no reply to her statement, just nodded. He spoke a moment after that, but his voice had gone a little cool. "Well. Best get these put away." He then picked up the remaining bags and walked upstairs, intent for the nursery, leaving a stunned wife in his wake.

She of course followed him up. "Mark," she said softly, closing the nursery door behind her. "You're not upset with me for the haircut and all that, are you?"

"No," he said, though he did not stop unloading the contents of the bags onto the bureau.

Coming near to him, she slipped her hand around his waist. "Talk to me."

He stopped at last, dropping his gaze down. "It's selfish of me," he said. "Not that I'm not pleased that she has a woman in her life she can go to for guidance on delicate subjects… God knows her mother has never been available to her for that."

"How is this selfish?" she asked, running her hand over his back comfortingly. 

"I just…" He sighed. "I don't know."

"Yes you do," she said sternly.

He looked to his wife at last. "I guess I miss her coming to me with these things."

Bridget did not quite know what to say at this. She had never intended on replacing Ella's mum… but certainly she had no intention of taking his place, either.

"I told you it was selfish," he said, mistaking her silence for agreement.

"Mark, no, it isn't," she said. "Of course you miss it. It's all you've known with her. But Ella wanting to confide girl things to me as she gets older and matures does not diminish your role in her life. As she said, she'll always be your little girl."

He smiled at last, turning to take her in his arms. "I guess I'd be worried if she didn't want to confide in you," he said, holding the back of her head with his hand. "But yes, you're right of course. This is just another adjustment I'll have to make… and I'm glad, deep down, to do so."

She tightened her embrace. She wasn't sure why she was so certain of this conviction, but she knew in time he'd have his role as confidant back… with their son. In the meanwhile, she thought she might remind Ella that her dad was, as he always had been, willing to listen to her.

……… 

By the time July rolled around, by the time Ella's sweet sixteen party approached, Bridget felt the size of the Goodyear blimp. It had been determined that she had in fact become pregnant some time during the end of January or the start of February, meaning she was now in her sixth month. Mark did not seem to mind, and in fact with each passing day his gazes became even softer and more loving, his caresses and embraces gentler, his lovemaking sweeter.

Plans were made for the milestone birthday bash. So that her friends could attend it more easily, they had the party at the Holland Park house. However, Bridget thought it would be nice to have a smaller family dinner the night before, on Friday, just Ella, Bridget, Mark, and…

It was quite a brilliant idea, actually.

"What are you up to?" asked Mark. He had just returned from dropping Ella at Besty's, early that very same Friday. Ella was spending the day at her friend's before the two were due to return back for that special supper then a birthday sleepover for the two of them.

Bridget replaced the telephone on its cradle, and turned to him with a smile. "Nothing much," she said. "I'm heading over to see Sharon for a while, and I'd love if you joined me."

He rarely went with her to Sharon's—he preferred to leave the long-time friends to their devices on occasion—so her inviting him along clearly puzzled him. 

Bridget continued, "I just need to pop to the store on the way and pick up a few things. Eggs, cream, leeks… and some blue twine."

He stared at her as if she'd gone mad until the light dawned, and when it did, he smiled, then laughed. "And orange marmalade?"

"Ohh, yes," she said with a giggle. "Just the thing to complete the evening."

"I think then that I am obliged to join you."

Later that evening, Mark picking the girls up then driving them to Auntie Shazzie's seriously confused the birthday-girl-to-be; her confusion intensified when they actually sat at the set table to eat, but was alleviated when the first course was served. When she saw the pale blue creamy concoction in the bowl set down before her, she met Bridget's eyes, then laughed uproariously and jumped up to throw her arms about her very pregnant stepmother.

"Since we have plans for tomorrow…" said Bridget into Ella's shoulder.

"Oh my God. Blue soup for my birthday, made just for me by the Blue Soup Chef herself."

Bridget laughed too, amused beyond all sense to learn that Ella had thought of her in such a way.

"Can't tell you how cool this is," she went on, looking a little teary. "Oh! And at the scene of the crime!"

"What are you talking about? Scene of what crime?" asked Betsy from her seat to the right of Shazzer.

"It would take too long to explain," said Ella, "but in a nutshell, it's a favourite story from my childhood, involving my dad and my now-stepmom."

At that Mark coloured, but smiled fondly.

Betsy went on, "Why am I not sitting next to you?"

Ella furrowed her brows, looking from her left to her right: her father, Bridget at the other end, then Betsy, then Sharon.

"Since Tom and Jude couldn't be here…" said Sharon enigmatically.

"This is where you were all sitting!" said Ella, her mouth an O as she put it together. "So who am I?"

Mark looked down sheepishly. "I admit that I was chiefly focusing on Bridget's end of the table that night."

Bridget blushed and looked down then at her husband just as he looked up at her.

Sharon supplied, "Jude."

"So then Betsy's… Tom!"

"I'm a _boy_?" said Betsy, her eyes widening even as she smiled.

"Mm-hmm. But don't worry—at least you still _like_ boys," said Ella. Bridget looked to Ella just as she looked to her father, then to herself. Mark had taken his wife's hand and grasped it over the corner of the table. "It must have been lovely, that night."

Bridget smiled. "It was." Mark tightened his grasp on her fingers.

Bridget had followed the menu that evening to match the original to the best of her ability, but with slight deviation (and, she hoped, improvement). After the soup, they had a frittata and for dessert, butter shortbread topped with orange marmalade.

"I believe we must recreate at least one more aspect of that evening, at least marginally faithfully," said Mark, holding up his glass of wine. "To my lovely daughter, I wish a very happy birthday. And to Bridget, whom I have always loved—just as she is."

At that, an overload of hormones combined with emotion got the better of her, and she burst into tears, leapt up as best she could being six months with child, and threw her arms around Mark's neck (sloshing his wine a bit, but she did not care) and giving him a tame but loving kiss.

"If only you'd done this that night, Bridge," she heard Sharon say drolly as she pulled back. She felt mixed emotions—she wished she had too, but then what of Ella?

Mark only smiled. If the consequences of the simple direction that night could have taken had also crossed his mind, he did not show it. "I might have to go find Daniel Cleaver next," he joked as she sat in her seat once more, but again did not relinquish her hand, "just to beat him up in the street." She could laugh about it now—and was glad for it.

………

Malcolm and Elaine stayed the birthday weekend in the remaining spare bedroom. It would be, as always, a pleasure to host them, though Bridget's belly had really seemed to pop out in the time since she'd seen his parents last. Elaine's surprise was unable to be contained when she laid her eyes on her daughter-in-law.

"Well, I guess there's absolutely no questioning that baby's existence," she said with a light laugh, taking Bridget in her arms for an adoring hug. "Quite solidly between you and I, isn't he?"

Bridget wasn't sure if there was something in the carriage of her stomach that bespoke the baby's sex to Elaine; they were well into the period of her pregnancy when they could have easily found out but they had agreed that they both wanted to be surprised. "What makes you say 'he'?" she asked, too curious to let it lie.

Elaine laughed again. "I'm not having a premonition or anything," she said. "It's just better than saying 'it', and since you two won't tell me…"

"We don't know either," she said, then added confidentially, "though I do suspect it might be a boy."

"Why don't you just find out?" said Elaine, who had firmly been in the camp of knowing early so she could stock up on what she considered gender appropriate items.

"We want a little more mystery than that," supplied Mark, climbing up the stairs from the kitchen before striding over to hug his mother.

"You're looking wonderful," said Elaine as she pulled back to take in the couple, just as Malcolm came in the front door with a suitcase. "I swear you two look happier every time I see you."

Bridget could not deny the fact that she was indeed very happy.

"Oh, Dad, I could have brought that in for you," said Mark.

"Nonsense," he said. "I'm as fit as a fiddle. Though if you don't mind going out and getting the other two, I'd be much obliged."

Mark grinned. "Be right back."

"Has the party started?" asked Elaine.

"Not until two," said Bridget. "Though Ella's friend Betsy stayed the night. We had the, um, traditional blue soup dinner last evening."

"Blue soup?" Elaine was clearly puzzled.

Before she had a chance to explain, Ella's voice rang out from the upper floor. "Bridget! Help!!"

Elaine looked alarmed. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," said Bridget. "Panic stations about looking perfect for the party. I'll be right back."

It took a little longer than it used to for her to scale the stairs with her stomach as it was—secretly she wished for a lift between the three levels—but she figured if she kept it up she'd stay in decent shape. Slightly winded from the climb, she knocked on Ella's door. "Everything okay in there?"

The door flew open. Ella was obviously stricken. She was wearing the outfit specially chosen for this day and she looked as lovely in it as she had trying it on. Bridget wondered what the problem was.

"Yes, I think you should still wear this outfit," she said in anticipation of what she felt was the inevitable question. "Why the drama?"

"My mother," she said seriously. "She's in London. When I mentioned I couldn't spend the day with her because I was having a party… she wants to come by to wish me happy birthday."

Bridget covered her mouth with her hand before she could stop herself.

"I mean, I don't mind seeing her, and I kind of want to on my birthday and all," Ella added, sounded a little wounded, "but I know my dad, Granny and Granddad won't want to."

"Ella, it's your birthday and if you want your mother here, then she can be here," said Bridget with rather more equanimity than she actually felt. She summoned a smile and a wink. "We can be civilised adults. I promise."

Ella looked relieved. "Thanks, Bridget. Um… will you tell my dad?"

She heard his heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, likely with his parents' suitcases. "I think you'd better tell him yourself." She turned her head and confirmed he indeed had a bag in each hand and a smaller one under his arm. "Mark, darling, could you come here a moment when you're through?"

He deposited the bags then came to Ella's door. "What it is?"

Ella looked petrified. Bridget reached forward and took her hand, nodding slightly.

"Dad, um…" She stopped, then sallied forth in a great rush. "Mom's in town. She's coming by to wish me happy birthday."

For his part, Mark was far more composed than she would have expected. "Is she?"

Ella nodded.

"Do you want her here?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

Mark looked thoughtful. "Well. I guess one more setting at the table is in order."

Ella beamed a smile then jumped up and threw her arms around her father's neck (it was less of a reach for Ella than it was for Bridget) for a tight hug. "Thanks, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too," he said, before pulling back and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now go finish prettying yourself up. Your guests will be arriving soon."

She flashed an excited, toothy smile. "Okay. Betsy!" she called out; her friend replied from the depths of the loo with something indeterminate. "Where's my brown shadow?"

Bridget pulled the door closed and sighed, then reached to now take Mark's hand. "That was the acting job of a lifetime, my love."

At that he actually cracked a smile, then pulled her into a gentle hug. "Just remember," he said, "you have the upper hand in every regard. It's your house, and it's you that I love. The only remaining tie between Natasha and myself is Ella." 

Bridget nodded. "I know." However, she knew that, even from their handful of meetings, Natasha had a way of making her feel small, insignificant and unworthy of existence. She took in a deep breath and realised Mark was right. She was the one he'd loved all along; she was his wife; she was carrying their child, one conceived of that love, and not after… well, she didn't like to imagine Mark and Natasha having sex, but she had to think a lot of alcohol was involved. This somehow comforted her, and actually made her chuckle.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Bridget. "Everything will be fine."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my fuzzy girl, who will be leaving us for the Rainbow Bridge tomorrow morning. :'(

There were some things that more than a decade and a half had not changed, but to Bridget's (possibly evil) delight, there were some things that had. When Natasha showed up at last—well into the party, but not before birthday cake was served—Bridget could scarcely think of anyone to compare Natasha to but Cruella DeVille. The fast-paced, A-type-personality life had fairly taken its toll. It was clear that she'd had work done to try to maintain an appearance of youth, but the work itself was not particularly good; hence, a face that was, at the height of her thirties, not particularly expressive or emotional to begin with was somehow now, in her late forties, rendered even more neutral and impassive. Her haircut and colour had not changed, but it was clear to Bridget she'd gone far greyer than Mark had, and she was quite overdue for a touch up on her roots.

"Bridget," she said; even with no facial expression it was clear what Natasha's opinion of Bridget's presence was. She looked pointedly at Bridget's pregnant belly, and said coolly, "Ah, the tried and true way of capturing a husband succeeds yet again."

"You'd know a little something about that, wouldn't you?" snapped Mark sharply in return, leaving Bridget reeling at his losing his cool, his harsh tone and what he inferred by the words he said. Bridget had never asked about the details of his marriage to Natasha and the birth of the baby, but when she quickly did the math… with Ella's birthday in July, Natasha must have gotten pregnant some time in November—the very November of the blue soup birthday.

_That was a long time ago_ , she thought, _and has no bearing on now_. Bridget squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed a smile, determined to take the high road. "Actually, we were already married when we found out," she said smoothly and pleasantly. "Please. Let me bring you outside to where your daughter is." She made to lead Natasha downstairs and through the kitchen, but Natasha brushed her aside.

"I know my way around this house," she said with a glare then preceded Bridget down the stairs.

Bridget recalled Mark's saying she'd left him for another lawyer, and so asked, "Didn't your husband come?" 

She stopped midway down, turned and shot daggers at Bridget with her eyes before continuing down. "Very funny," she spat. Bridget didn't know what that was supposed to mean, and hoped Mark might be able to explain.

As soon as Natasha went through the French doors to where the kids—young adults, really—were enjoying food and drink in the sun, she transformed into a freakishly sweet, loving mother-figure, stretching her arms out and saying, "Ella, my love! Mummy's here!"

Ella's head snapped up and though she smiled, she also looked a little embarrassed. She came over to where her mother was and gave her a big hug. "Hi," she said.

Natasha pulled back to look at her daughter. "Oh, you look so grown up… though what happened to your beautiful hair?" Natasha reached up and combed her fingers through the sophisticated cut. "It's been butchered."

"Bridget took me for a haircut."

"I should have guessed," she said, then tried to bury the snotty comment with a half-hearted compliment. "Hm. Well. I suppose it's not so bad… it'll just take getting used to, and I haven't seen you in almost a year."

"I love it," said Ella fiercely.

"Always the little rebel," she said with a feeble attempt at a smile. "So tell me all about school, your friends…" With the spectacle of her entrance concluded, she lowered her voice in conversation with Ella, who did not seem at all comfortable with her mother's arm around her shoulder.

Mark slipped his own arm around her shoulders. "What mess did I step in now?" muttered Bridget.

"What?" asked Mark.

"Natasha's husband."

"Ah. I'm sorry—that's my fault. I told you she left me for another man, but neglected to tell you that he subsequently left her… for another man."

At this she burst out with a laugh; he could not help grinning at her.

"I'm glad I didn't know," said Bridget quietly. "Score one for me."

Once her mother had quieted down, Ella looked entirely more at ease as she introduced Betsy, Thomas, Bill, Susan and the others to her. For her part she seemed pleased to meet them all, looked over them with approval. Ella was, after all, in a very good school, and the parents of all of these children were respectable as well as wealthy. There was no reason at all to disapprove.

"Bridget? Could you come here please?"

It was Elaine, who had just appeared from the kitchen. They had gone upstairs for a lie down after the long drive; secretly Bridget thought that they wished to avoid Natasha, but knew they couldn't remain absent for the entirety of the party. Natasha turned to look at Elaine, who decidedly ignored her. Bridget's affection for Elaine, which knew no bounds to begin with, increased exponentially.

"Yes?" she asked as she got closer.

"Malcolm and I were on our way down when we heard a rap at the front door. There's a boy in the foyer who claims to be a friend of Ella's. I didn't want you to have to come back upstairs. Shall I let him down?"

The group of invited friends was not large but was of a mixed nature; some of Ella's best mates at school were boys, and they had come today. One invited person, however, had not shown up, and though Ella had put on a brave face, she was disappointed that the object of her crush had not turned up that day. Bridget wondered if this could be him now.

"Did he give his name?"

"Liam, I believe."

Bridget couldn't stop her smile. "Yes, please, let him down!"

Bridget went into the kitchen and waited for the legendary Liam to appear. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, she saw that Ella's praise had not been exaggerated. He was indeed a very handsome boy, tall and clearly athletic, dark brown curls tousled by the wind, and light blue eyes fringed with enviably thick dark lashes. He seemed reserved and polite and offered a smile as he walked away from Elaine and towards her. "I'm Ella's stepmother. She's talking with her mother. I understand you're Liam?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said. "I was… having trouble finding a nice present for Ella. I hope she's not angry."

Bridget was willing to bet that even if she were, she would have forgiven Liam this transgression upon sight. "She's fine. Please, come outside. She'll be pleased to see you came."

At the motion in the periphery of her vision, Ella turned her head and looked up just as Liam came into the sunlight. The look on her face was a mix of shock and happiness as she stood from the table. Natasha, of course, had to look then stand as well.

"Hi," she said as he went nearer. 

"I was just apologising to your stepmum—sorry I'm late."

"No, no, that's cool," she said, obviously thrilled by his presence. "Glad you could make it."

"This must be your mother, then?" he asked, looking to Natasha.

She held out her hand. "Yes. And you are?"

"Liam. I'm a classmate of your daughter's."

Bridget could see Natasha mentally appraising him. She of course approved, and smiled. "Very nice to meet you, Liam."

The interaction attracted Mark's attention as well; Ella's obvious swooning over the boy meant he was quickly walking over to join the small group.

"And this is my dad," said Ella, seeing his approach. "Dad, this is Liam, a friend from school."

Mark's appraisal was not as easy to determine. He knew Liam was the boy on whom his daughter had a crush. She half-expected him to turn on the full-blown protective father mode, throw Ella over his shoulder, and run upstairs to lock her in her room until she hit menopause. But instead, after a few moments, he smiled and extended his hand towards the boy. "Pleased to meet you. We've heard nice things about you."

_Oh_ , thought Bridget as she watched Ella flush a deep crimson in her mortification, _totally wrong thing to say._ She poked Mark from her position at his side then gave him a severe look before adding, "You and all of her friends. It's a pleasure to meet you all at last." Mark seemed to realise his misstep and nodded.

Ella flashed a grateful look in Bridget's direction, one that did not escape Natasha's notice. She looked like steam might come out of her ears at any moment.

"Have you had cake yet?" asked Natasha.

"No." Bridget watched Ella turn her eyes on Liam again, smiling shyly. He smiled in return. If Bridget was not mistaken, he was quite taken with her, too.

"Oh, good," she said. "I'd hate to think I missed out on you blowing out your candles."

"Bridget." It was Mark's mother, who was still ignoring Natasha's existence, and while she must have expected it, it still obviously rankled her. "I believe you said you wanted to do the cake at four? It's four."

"Yes, Elaine, thank you," said Bridget with a beaming smile.

"Let me… let me get my friends," said Ella tentatively. "Liam, go ahead and take a seat."

The table was rather large, accommodating the ten friends, her grandparents, her father, stepmother, and mother, but Liam gravitated to the seat directly beside where the cake was being placed. As Bridget lit the candles—the air was still enough that the breeze was not likely to blow them out—he asked quietly, "Is it all right if I sit here?"

Bridget smiled, turning her eyes to him. He was definitely taken with her, and he doubted the haircut and the new clothes had much to do with it. "It's all yours."

……… 

As Bridget expected, Natasha did not stay much longer than the serving of cake then the over-the-top presentation of her gift. "It isn't much," she explained with false modesty, "but I hope you like it."

The present was… well, Bridget was not sure what possessed Natasha to think Ella would want or need an ostentatious knee-length fur coat, especially as she must have known Ella's opinion on the cruelty of fur, but to her credit Ella offered a smile and thanked her mother politely.

To Bridget's surprise, Mark leaned in from his seat next to her and whispered almost cattily, "They say it's the thought that counts… but for her, it's what other people _thought_ about what she spent."

She found herself biting back a laugh, instead turning and kissing his cheek.

Next Ella reached for what Bridget knew to be her own present, an advance copy she'd managed to score of a book by Ella's favourite author, via her old contacts at Pemberley Press. She smiled and watched with anticipatory glee for Ella's reaction as she unwrapped it.

She was not disappointed.

"Oh my GOD! How in the world—" she began, then declared, "This is a fake! This has to be a fake!" As she thumbed through its pages, she went on, "This book… Oh my God, it is _so_ not a fake!"

Bridget laughed. "It is not a fake," she confirmed. "I know how you've been looking forward to that book."

"Oh, Bridget, thank you _so_ much! This is an awesome, awesome present, and I am going to be the envy of… everyone!"

The difference in reactions between the two gifts—one from mother, one from stepmother—did not go unnoticed, particularly by Natasha, who snorted huffily, but said nothing except, "A book." Bridget knew that Natasha was dying to make some catty comment about the author, but since the author was such a reputable literary figure, there was hardly a comment Natasha could make that wouldn't reveal herself to be the bitch she truly was. 

Next Ella opened gifts from friends: DVDs, some music, a new school diary, and then… she watched Liam look slightly nervous as she picked up a smaller box. Whatever it was, Bridget knew this was from him.

"Oooh, what's this?" She pulled off the card and read it—"Happy Birthday, from Liam", which made her visibly tense—then untied the ribbon, tore off the paper, and opened the box… and was utterly speechless. She looked up at him, her mouth hanging slightly open in an endearing way. "Wow," she said at last.

"What is it?" asked Betsy impatiently, craning her neck to try to see.

Liam explained, "Well, I've seen that necklace you wear all the time and thought it might be nice if you had a matching bracelet."

She held it up. It was a delicate silver bracelet, the style of chain very closely matching the chain her silver heart hung upon. "It's lovely. Wow," she said again quietly, examining it from several different angles. "You shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he said with a smile.

Bridget was concerned that the boy had spent a lot on the gift, but the box was not in fact from Tiffany's, and surely his parents wouldn't have allowed him to spend too much for a girl he hardly knew. She managed to catch Ella's eye, and mouthed the words "Thank you" to prompt her.

As she thanked him for his gift, Bridget glanced to Mark. He looked stunned. She grinned; his daughter was already garnering presents from male admirers. She suspected she would have to smooth down his feathers later.

After a card with money from Mark's parents—her maternal grandparents had, as anticipated, sent nothing, not even a card—the last gift on the pile was the one from Mark joint with Bridget, who once again bounced in her seat.

It was the newest, latest smart phone, one she'd been dying for since its release months ago; it had all the bells and whistles, played music, took video, the works. Her face lit up, though she hardly seemed surprised to see it—she had, after all, hinted enough that this was the only gift she really wanted.

"Aw, cool!" she said, smiling happily. "Thank you so much, Bridget, Dad." She stood up and went over to where they sat, putting an arm around each of their shoulders, kissing their cheeks in turn.

This was evidently more than Natasha could bear. She rose from the table noisily. "Well, I must be off," she announced. "I'll be in London another couple of days, Ella. Lunch tomorrow?" Ella nodded, though it seemed reluctant, then she went over to kiss her mother goodbye. "I'll see myself out. Nice to meet you all. Happy birthday, my angel," she cooed before sweeping off into the house, managing a poisonous look at Bridget as she did so.

Ella's annoyance with her mother was short-lived, however, because it was her birthday, she was now sixteen, and the boy she liked had just given her a nice present. As the adults cleared off the table, Bridget noticed Liam offering to help Ella with the clasp on the bracelet. Elaine sidled up to Bridget and said quietly, "He seems like a nice young man."

"He does," she said, smiling herself, watching him trying to work the tiny clasp with his fingers, watching it catch at last, seeing him looking up to her with a proud grin… and not pulling his fingers away from her wrist right away.

"And I'm afraid the claws are out," said Elaine. "Natasha does not like the idea of you usurping her place."

"She has never liked that idea," said Bridget, thinking back eons ago to the _Kafka's Motorbike_ book launch. "Was it that obvious?"

Elaine laughed. "Just a little."

"You know I'm not trying to take her mother's place," said Bridget worriedly.

"I know you're not trying," said Elaine approvingly, echoes of something Ella herself had once said, "but you're doing it nonetheless."

………

"So what on earth is she going to do with a fur coat?"

It was twilight, most of the party guests had gone, and Mark was collecting Ella's presents to bring them into the house.

"Return it, I imagine," she replied from her seat at the table. She was exhausted, her feet swollen, and Mark had more than once told her to go upstairs and rest, but she was enjoying the summer evening too much; the fairy lights she'd put up on the patio were on and it was beyond lovely out in the garden.

"Yes," he said. "I don't understand that woman's logic. I never have."

She sat back in the chair, sipped her orange juice, and with her hand protectively on her stomach, she thought back to the comment Natasha had made about the most effective method of snagging a husband. "Mark," she began tentatively. "Did you only marry her because of the baby?"

Judging by the cessation of all sound he had stopped what he was doing, and was quickly at her side again, taking a seat. "I was an idiot," he said.

"I take that to mean yes," she said gently.

"It seemed the right thing to do at the time," he said. "I didn't think it fair to make an innocent child pay for my mistake—"

She reached for his hand, covering it with her own. "You don't need to explain."

He looked inexplicably sad. "I do," he went on quietly. "She didn't find out until we were in New York. Hinted to me that she was going to end the pregnancy if we didn't marry. Said she didn't want to be burdened with the trouble of a baby."

Bridget was shocked, understanding his lowered tone at once; he didn't want Ella to hear that her own mother had used her as a bargaining chip to get Mark to marry her. "Oh my God."

"Please don't say anything to her," Mark said.

"Of course not, Mark," she said, feeling angry tears filling her eyes.

"I might not have ever loved Natasha," he said, "but I loved that child from the moment I knew she existed. I would have done just about anything for her."

At that Bridget actually began to cry. Mark took her into his arms, pulling her onto his lap, holding her close. "I know it's the hormones," she said through her tears, "but I can't imagine threatening my child—our child—to get my way."

"That, my love, is the difference between you two," he said gently, close to her ear.

"Do you think she might have really done it?"

Mark didn't answer immediately, and when he did, his voice was full of pain. "I think she would have."

She reared back and kissed him on the mouth. "But she didn't," said Bridget, "and you have a wonderful daughter."

He gazed into her eyes. "I wish she were our daughter."

Bridget smiled tenderly. "We'll have a child of ours soon enough," she said, striving for a light tone, "and besides, I love Ella as if she were my own."

That seemed to be just the right thing to say, for his face split into a smile and he held her to him again, then kissed her thoroughly, even as tears (this time of happiness) slid down her cheeks.

"Everything all right?" It was Elaine, poking her head out from where she had been washing up wine glasses.

"Everything's fine," said Mark, holding his wife to him. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

………

Elaine joined Malcolm upstairs, and Mark was attempting to persuade Bridget in kind, but feeling a little pregnantly peckish, she insisted on making herself a snack before making the trip upstairs. He had offered to make something for her, but she wasn't sure what she wanted, so she told him to instead go upstairs and draw a bath for her. He agreed.

She had just decided on and made peanut butter toast when movement in the back garden caught her eye. She thought it was just a bunch of the fairy lights swinging in the wind—she cursed herself for having left them lit—but when she glanced up, she saw it was Ella, and Ella was not alone. She was beside Liam, and she was smiling as she looked up at him.

Bridget hadn't even realised the boy was still here, had thought Ella was up in her own room playing with her new phone; she froze in place though knew from her position in the darkened kitchen that she was not going to be seen. Probably Bridget could have been dancing around with her hair on fire and she wouldn't have been seen, because Ella's attention was thoroughly captured by Liam.

She saw Ella's mouth moving as she spoke; "I'm glad you came" was what she appeared to say. He smiled, gazing down into her eyes, and then slowly moved to—

_Oh my God_ , thought Bridget. _He's going to kiss her._

She wasn't sure if she should avert her eyes or watch to make sure he didn't take liberties with her, but in the end, she kept her eyes in their general direction, watching as she closed her eyes, as he bent to place a chaste, tender kiss on her lips.

The romantic in her was warring with the parent in her, and she wondered if Mark had ever rolled out the sex speech—then realised, yes, he must have, if she'd known (as Mark had declared) that he'd slept with Bridget that night in October months ago. But it was sweet and, under the fairy lights, probably the most innocent and perfect first ( _First?_ she thought, then decided based on his initial reluctance, _yes, first_.) kiss imaginable.

Liam was smiling at her again, stroking her cheek with his hand, before saying something to her and walking around outside rather than coming in through the house to leave. Ella looked beyond happy; her cheeks were flush and her eyes were glossy, and she was veritably bouncing in place. For her part, Bridget did not stay any longer in the kitchen; she did not want Ella to know she'd seen. She took her toast and headed up the stairs to the main floor, then, as she heard the French doors close and latch below, she continued up to the top floor and into the bedroom she shared with Mark.

"Bridget?"

She wondered about the state of her expression, because Mark was looking at her with some alarm. It was possible the alarm had more to do with her uneaten, cooling toast.

"Hm?" she asked.

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head, smiling wistfully. "Just remembering my first kiss." 

He looked puzzled until he suddenly didn't. "Bridget," he began darkly. "Why would you say that?"

"I just inadvertently witnessed your daughter having hers."

For a moment she wished she hadn't said anything, so close to a cartoon-style lava-exploding-mountaintop did Mark's head come to be even before he spoke, but she was quick to soothe him. "It was a light goodbye peck by the very nice and extremely respectful Liam."

"Just a light peck?" he asked, regaining his composure.

Bridget nodded, then went up to him and demonstrated precisely what she'd seen. "Just like that. Then he left, and Ella came inside."

Mark calmed even farther until another thought occurred to him: "How do you know it was the first? Where had they been before that?"

Recalling Liam's hesitancy and obvious nervousness, she smiled. "I could tell it was the first, Mark. He was all shyness and tentativeness. It was really adorable."

"You will try to get details, won't you?" he asked.

"Mark!" she said with a laugh. 

"I'm serious," he said. "I've come to terms with being a father again. I have no desire to become a…" He paused. "A grandfather too."

She placed her hands on his arms. "I will talk to her and ask her how her night was. If she confides in me, great. If not, I'll just mention how much we like Liam—" Mark grimaced, because he _had_ liked Liam, at least before Liam became The Boy Who Kissed His Daughter. "—and remind her of the responsibility of being too adult, too soon." She patted her stomach and grinned.

"I'm not sure I feel any better," he said, but his calmer expression, his less ashen countenance said that he did, "but thank you."

She bit into her toast, getting peanut butter on her upper lip. "There was something about a bath?" she asked, smiling, pulling her tongue over her lip.

He bent to help her clean up the rest of the peanut butter. "Indeed," he said. "I think I might need to join you after that little trauma, though."

She chuckled. 

A knock on the door prevented further de-peanut buttering. Taking a step back, Mark called out to please come in. It was an over-radiant Ella.

"Hi!" said Bridget with brightness in her voice. "Did you have a good night?"

From the look on his face, he clearly thought she was going to try to grill his daughter right then and there. Bridget knew though that she wouldn't open up about a kiss in front of her dad. "I had a great night. Thanks again for the party. I was just coming to say good night."

Snapping out of his deer-in-the-headlights state, Mark went over to her and gave her a warm hug. "Good night, dearest girl," he said softly. "Seems like only yesterday I was holding you, tiny as could be, in my arms."

She snorted a laugh. "Oh, _Dad_."

"Scoff if you will," he said, tightening his embrace then kissing her cheek before letting her go. "When you're a mother, _a very, very long time from now_ , you'll understand."

She rolled her eyes then went to Bridget. "I'm glad you had a good day," she said quietly as she hugged her. "You know I'm here if there's anything you want to talk about, right?"

"Yeah," she said after a moment. Bridget pulled back and pecked her cheek, too. 

"Sleep well," she said, "and don't stay up all night playing with your new phone."

"Nah," she said with a grin. "I have a lot to write in my diary."

Ella left, and Mark looked just as pale as before. She could hear the jest in his tone, though, as he said, "My God, she's turning into you." 

"I suppose I can think of worse things," she replied with a laugh.

With that, he took her in his arms then began to divest her of her clothes. The bath water, after all, wasn't getting any warmer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. It was a hard day, and I needed a little Mark Darcy therapy.

"Bridget? Can I talk to you a minute?"

Since her feet were still quite swollen from being on them so much the day before, Ella rather had a captive audience for this conversation; Bridget was reclining on the sofa with her feet up, and put down the book she was reading. "Of course you can."

From the look on her face—broad smile, sparkling eyes—Bridget had a feeling she knew that this talk was going to be about. 

"Yesterday was awesome," Ella said, sitting on the ottoman beside the sofa. "But not only because I turned sixteen and you gave me a really great book." She looked hesitant. Bridget decided to prompt her.

"A certain someone showing up didn't hurt, I think."

Ella flushed pink. "Yeah."

"Well, Ella my dear," said Bridget. "Whatever the case before, I definitely think he's noticed you now."

Bridget didn't think it possible, but her smile broadened, her blush deepened.

"He seems like a very nice young man," she continued, feeling strangely like her mother as she did so. "I liked him a lot."

"Everyone likes him," she gushed.

"You _really_ like him," said Bridget.

She nodded, looking to the bracelet on her wrist, running her finger over the chain. "Yeah. I do."

"Is there a problem?"

"No problem," she said, then looked to Bridget again, her eyes plaintive. "He wants to take me to a movie."

Bridget's eyebrows shot up. She hadn't expected this, a minor bombshell in the grand scheme, but a bombshell nonetheless. "On a date?"

She nodded again, tentatively, then more vigorously. "On a date."

"You must have had a really good long talk last night."

"More than talk," she said softly.

For a moment Bridget was convinced that she had completely misread that sweet little kiss last night—then remembered that this was Ella, who had a good head on her shoulders, her father's sharp intelligence. "Oh?" she asked in as casual tone as possible.

"Yeah." She seemed to consider something before continuing. "Bridget, after we sat in the garden talking almost all night, just before he left, standing under the Christmas lights, he _kissed_ me. It was the nicest thing ever."

Bridget smiled, feeling a bit teary. In some ways she felt like Ella was growing up right before her eyes, and she'd known the girl less than a year. "Nothing too Hollywood, I hope."

She blushed as she said with a laugh, " _No_."

"Good," she said. "I'd hate your father to feel—"

"That's just it," interrupted Ella, looking torn. "I'm afraid he won't let me go."

She thought about what Ella said, thought about Mark's reaction to the kiss, and had to concede it might be a hard sell. "I think he'd think of worst-case scenarios. He trusts you. He knows you're a smart girl. But you know how he is when things are sort of… beyond his control."

Ella nodded, pursing her lips.

"He also worries that something might happen that you won't be able to get yourself out of. You know?"

Ella looked down. "Yeah."

"And…" She swallowed hard, contemplating how to broach this most delicate of subjects. "…well. There's the concern that all fathers have that their daughters might turn up like… um. You know. Like me." She indicated her big tummy.

At this Ella laughed out loud. "I understand."

"He's this way only because he loves you, like any good dad would."

"I know he does."

"So the most we can do is ask, plead your case, and abide by his decision."

"That's right up his line of work." Ella gave her a sidelong glance. "If it were totally up to you, would you let me go?"

Bridget recalled that she fought for the right to date at a similar age, and she smiled. "I think you're a bright young woman," she said at last; Ella puffed at being referred to as such, "and you've got a lot more common sense than I had at your age."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm not giving you any ammo to use against your dad if he says no," she said with a wink.

"You're a crafty stepmom," she said with a smile.

Bridget thought that that would have been the end of the conversation, but did she didn't go.

"Something else?"

"Had a question. About… um. This." She drew a circle with her hand over Bridget's stomach.

"Do you mean… sex?"

She blushed and nodded. Bridget felt heat on her own face, sure she was giving Ella a run for her money in the blushing department.

"I thought you…" she stammered, "your father said you…"

"He didn't give me details. I could tell he was mortified to say anything more than just a woman and a man… well. Do stuff when they really love each other."

She smiled, imagining Mark stumbling through such a conversation, couldn't imagine Natasha saying anything except not to give it away to anyone but the richest of men. She steeled herself as she asked, "What did you want to know?"

"Um. Does it hurt?"

Bridget's blush intensified. "I'm not gonna lie. It does."

Ella looked confused, as if she had been convinced that everyone had been lying about the pain to keep her wanting to do it. "Why does anyone do it, then?"

"It doesn't hurt every time," she explained. "Usually just the first time. Sometimes the first few times. But it's also something really wonderful when you do it with a person you love who's worthy of you, someone you can open up to completely without reserve." She swallowed again, thinking specifically of her hard crush on Liam, remembering how fierce her own feelings were at that age. "And the first boy who's interested might seem really special and worthy for just noticing you, the first time you're in that situation might feel like the real deal, but you can't be tempted to share something that extraordinary with just anyone." She paused for a moment. "Does that make sense?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"I thought I was ready at your age, but I really wasn't," she confessed. "But every… woman is different. So, having said that, if you decide you might be ready… I want you to know you can always talk to me or your father—"

She chuckled. "Oh my God, my father could barely get the word out of his mouth. I can't imagine discussing the details with him."

"He might surprise you," Bridget said. "And it's better to talk to him, to us, than to no one at all. Your friends don't have the experience we do. Any embarrassment we all might have in talking about, um, things like birth control… that will be nothing compared to your trying to tell us you're up the spout."

Ella blushed. "Point taken."

At that moment there was a knock in the doorjamb. They both turned at once and to Bridget's horror it was Natasha standing there. She wondered how much Natasha had heard. "Ella. Your grandmother told me you were in here. Did you forget about lunch?"

"Mom, sorry. Let me get my bag."

"Okay," she said, smiling benevolently, at least until Ella left the room and her footfalls could be heard on the stairs. That was when her whole demeanour changed. Her tone was vicious as she asked Bridget, "What do you think you're doing?"

The towering Cruella had a distinct advantage over the prostrate pregnant woman on the sofa. She figured she'd make Natasha do the work. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who said it was your job to talk to my daughter about sex?" she hissed.

"If a curious young woman has the courage to ask me for advice about sex," said Bridget evenly, "I'm going to talk to her with the respect and honesty she deserves."

"Sounded like you were encouraging her to do it."

"I was encouraging her to be smart about it," she said. "I don't know if you remember being a teenaged girl, but were you more or less likely to try something your parents forbade you to do?"

Curiously, she evaded answering the question. "You are not her mother."

"No, I'm not," said Bridget, pushing herself to sit more upright. "But I am her stepmother, and I'm not going to defer to a woman who more or less gave her over to her father as being too much trouble. I'll stick with my instincts, and follow Mark's lead, if it's all the same to you."

"Do you really think _you're_ the best role model?" she asked with a haughty sniff. "You've got to be pushing fifty, you're overweight, you're pregnant, and your track record before finally and eventually settling down leaves much to be desired."

Bridget was about to retort how rich this was coming from a woman on Botox overdrive with skin stretched tighter than a tanned leather drumhead, when she heard Mark's voice boom out.

"She's a far better role model than you'll ever be," he said. "You may have contributed half your genetics and carried Ella in your womb for nine months, but Bridget's already a better mother to my daughter than you have ever been. She's there for her, she loves her, and she doesn't shrink from the responsibility of parenting her."

Natasha clenched her teeth, saying nothing.

"Leave our house," commanded Mark. "You are not welcome back."

"Ella and I are—"

"Not going to lunch," he said decisively.

"You can't keep her from me."

"Actually, I can," he said. "I shouldn't have to lecture you on family law, Natasha. She's sixteen. She is no longer legally bound to you for visitation. And in case you've forgotten, in England sixteen means she can leave home if she chooses. If you put up a fight, I could make a very strong case that you essentially abandoned your parental rights years ago." Bridget felt wrong in thinking of him as especially sexy when he spoke in such a commanding, severe way, especially on such a serious subject, but he was. "Go on. Go back to New York. She'll call you if she wants to." He stood there fixed to the spot until she preceded him out. Bridget pushed herself to her feet and decided to go upstairs to find Ella.

The girl was on her bed, sobbing into her pillow. Bridget sat down beside her. Ella stiffened. "Hey," said Bridget, reaching out to stroke her hair; the girl relaxed as soon as she realised it was not her mother. "What's wrong?"

"How is it possible to hate someone and love them too?" she said between sobs. "I don't want to go with her anywhere. It's hours of bad food and her telling me how screwed up my father is." She paused. "I bet she thinks you're screwed up too."

"I don't care what she thinks. And besides, she's always thought I was screwed up," said Bridget. 

Ella actually chuckled at that. 

"I'm sorry she's so awful to you," Bridget continued. "It might perk you up to know your father kicked her out of the house." She flipped over, a look of shock on her face as she sat up. "You don't have to go anywhere."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

Ella smiled, her relief palpable. "Thank God." She leaned forward and hugged Bridget tightly.

A sound in the room caused Bridget to turn her head. It was Mark. She smiled. His look was tender; he reached out to stroke Ella's hair.

"I take it Bridget told you you're off the hook for lunch."

"Yes," she said, sitting back away from Bridget, turning her teary eyes up to him. "Thanks."

"You'd've been proud of your father, sending her on her way," said Bridget.

She smiled up at him. "Ah," she said. "I'm always proud of my dad."

"Ella," prompted Bridget. Now was as good a time as any, with the warm loving feelings circulating in the room. "There was something you wanted to ask your dad, wasn't there?"

She pursed her lips, glancing to Bridget momentarily. "Dad," she began, wetting her lips with her tongue. "You liked Liam, right?"

"He seemed nice," he said cautiously. "Why do you ask?"

"He… wants to take me to a movie."

His eyes went to Bridget's.

"He _is_ nice and won't do anything but hold my hand, I promise," she blurted out, her face a picture of earnestness. Bridget tried not to laugh.

"A movie."

"Yes. The cinema, like they say here. You know."

"Yes, I know." He stood, pacing around a little, running his hand over his face. "Just a movie?"

"Yes."

Mark looked at Bridget. "What's your opinion? You clearly have had more time to consider this than I have."

She shrugged. "A matinee can't hurt."

He looked to Ella again. "And then you'll come straight home?"

"Yes. I promise, I _swear_."

He thought about it some more. "How old is he?"

"He'll be seventeen in three months," she admitted.

"Seventeen," he repeated with a great exhalation of breath, looking to the ceiling. She might as well have said he was thirty.

"He's in my class though," she said, "because of his birthday."

Mark turned back to where Ella sat on the bed, pointed a finger at his daughter, and spoke sternly. "Next Saturday. He comes here to pick you up, and he drops you back home immediately after the show. I want a film you've never seen, no remakes or derivatives, and I want details from it when you're back, because I'm then taking Bridget to see it. Understood?"

Mark had been very serious, but Ella did not seem to notice in her glee. She was getting far more than she ever expected out of this negotiation. "Absolutely. Yes, yes, yes."

He sighed, conceding at last. "All right," he said stoically.

The supersonic squeal as she leapt to her feet to hug him was actually slightly painful to hear. "Oh, Dad, thank you," she said. "I promise I won't let you down. You can totally trust me."

Mark only tightened his embrace, looking down at his wife with a smile. Bridget nodded slightly. He mouthed _I know_ in return. Suddenly, Ella popped up to grab her mobile then ran out of the room. "Betsy!" they heard her then cry.

"Well," he said. "I think that went well."

Bridget got to her feet. "First you give Natasha a telling-off that she's deserved for years and years, then you successfully mediate your daughter's first date." She embraced him, kissed his cheek. "You are very sexy when you're authoritative."

He chuckled, turning his head to kiss her properly, his hand playing over her belly. "You'll be seeing that a lot in the years to come. I promise."

………

The thirteenth of October turned out to be the big day. Labour started early in the morning, just after breakfast, as if the child was already anticipating his (or her) father's love of schedule. It was unlike any pain she had ever known, and she cried with every bolt through her stomach. Mark was a champ, though, remaining as calm, cool and collected as ever as he gathered up her travel bag then helped her to the car. Ella came too, made phone calls and held Bridget's hand as they sped to the birthing centre.

"Does it hurt?" Ella asked. Bridget could not help but laugh, strangely thinking of their conversation months ago about sex.

"Like hell," she replied, gritting her teeth just as another pain shot through her.

"We're almost there, darling," said Mark calmly from behind the wheel. How he could remain so calm was beyond her—but she was glad he could. He really was her rock.

The world looked to be a strange place from a position on her back; she was transferred to a gurney and was wheeled to a room where her contractions could be monitored. Thus far the pregnancy had been textbook perfect, but with her being older than most first-time mums (quite a delicate way to put it, if she did say so herself), they were being extra cautious. She suspected that Mark would have been that way anyway even if it were twenty years earlier. She thought about the first time he'd done this, sat waiting for Ella to be born, and turned to look at him. He looked a touch dishevelled. In his haste to make sure everything was in order for her, he had dressed in the first thing he could find—khaki trousers and a dark blue jumper. She asked, "Is this like before at all?"

He looked to her—what a sight she must have been, lying on her side and curled into a foetal position around her contracting belly—and she decided at once that he thought she was mad. "What?" he asked.

"When Ella came. Were you tending to bags and arranging care?"

"That hardly matters, Bridget," he said a touch curtly; it occurred to her that maybe he thought she was asking it out of some kind of jealousy.

"No, I'm just curious. I can't imagine Natasha allowing herself to be viewed in such an undignified state."

He looked at her and smiled. "She informed me I was to wait in the waiting room," he said sombrely, but quickly turned his mood around. "Night and day, you two."

"I would never dream of asking you to leave," she said, as another pain hit her. "You had a part in making this baby, and by God, you're having a part in bringing him into the world."

He actually laughed and took her hand, which she wondered if it was so wise of him to do, as she was likely crushing the bones. "Or her."

"Or her," she allowed.

The attending nurse appeared, and after timing contractions (still reasonably far apart; no imminent birth), observing the view below, and feeling Bridget's stomach, she was looking very serious. "I know you wanted to try to avoid a Caesarean," she said, making a notation on the chart as she came straight to the point, "but a vaginal birth is absolutely out of the question now."

"What? Why?"

"The baby's breech."

She blinked. "What?"

"Feet first," supplied Mark.

"Can't be turned around?"

"I'm afraid not. We'll be prepping you for an emergency Caesarean at once."

"Emergency?" she said, feeling panicked. "Is something really wrong?" Mark stroked her hair.

"It's only called that because labour has already begun. Remain calm. We do this more frequently that you'd think."

The decision was made to go with regional rather than general anaesthesia. Mark was still allowed to come, though it was recommended he stay with her near her head; some fathers just couldn't take seeing their wives, girlfriends, etc. undergoing the Caesarean procedure. He opined as that was yet another reason to be there, not an excuse not to be. "You couldn't keep me away," he said.

Everything from there went off without a hitch; Mark joking through his nervousness that the baby making a backwards entrance into the world was bound to be auspicious helped her to relax as the little one was brought forward.

"Well," came the voice of the doctor afterwards; there was much scurrying and scrambling, though she could hardly see from her position (and the position of the curtain) what exactly was happening. "Ten fingers, ten toes; a nice, solid weight." They heard a cry—their baby's cry—and the doctor added, "And a healthy set of lungs too." The doctor appeared at their side with a beaming smile. "Congratulations. It's a boy."

Bridget had thought she would be strong and not cry, but the truth was when the doctor made this announcement, she crumpled into sobs. Mark leaned forward. He wiped away her tears and pushed sweaty fronds of hair from her face before kissing her on the lips. "You're going to be insufferable about having known, aren't you?" he teased through his own tears of happiness.

"Shut up and make them bring our son to us," she replied before tearing up again.

They had a few other details to attend to—namely, the discreet line of stitching just below her abdomen, both internal and external—before they would allow the newborn to be brought to them. She could not find the words to express her joy when they did. He was perfect, she decided, and she didn't think she was being biased: soft crown of brown hair; long, tiny fingers and toes; and the tiniest dimple in his chin, just like his father. He calmed immediately upon being rested near her head.

"Ella will be pleased," said Mark quietly, his voice thick with emotion, as he ran his fingers over the silky hair, "that her names will get to be used."

"I think she'll be pleased for more than that," said Bridget with equal emotion.

………

It was one of those modern places that allowed the baby to be in the same room as the mother, and she was happy for that, because the Caesarean meant extra hospital time. When visitors were allowed, they came in droves; Ella was allowed in first, and the tears came immediately upon seeing her new little brother nestled in Bridget's arm. "Oh my God," she said, bending close for a better view. "He's such a little peanut." She looked up. "Colin Malcolm?"

They both nodded.

She beamed proudly. "Liam says congratulations, by the way," she added. The first date had been a roaring success, such that Mark had been forced to accept that his daughter was quite a responsible young woman, and with some graciousness of spirit on his part, he allowed additional dates to occur. More often than not, Liam was at the house, where they watched movies together—with the door to the room left wide open.

Mark's parents were also there, and they'd brought Una Alconbury with them. She looked as pleased as any parent would have been, and said what everyone was thinking: "Pam and Colin would be so proud." His parents nodded and kissed them both in turn, oohing and aahing over their second grandchild. Malcolm seemed especially delighted, making a big deal about there now being a boy to carry on the family name, though Bridget knew in her heart of hearts a girl would have been equally welcome to him.

Shazzer came to visit too, and she could only bring her hands to her mouth as she cried, which was very unlike her. "He's gorgeous," she breathed at last.

"He's six hours old," reminded Bridget.

"Shut up," she said, stroking his velvety skin, admiring his cupid's-bow lips. "He's still gorgeous."

There were flowers and cards from Jude and Tom, who promised visits for the Christmas holidays. She was happier than she could possibly say.

Later, after the visitors left and the lights were lowered, the baby happily full after his latest feeding, Mark, who was staying in the room with her, laid beside her, spooned up against her, her back pressed into him, his hand tenderly over her sore stomach.

"I feel like I've been saying this a lot lately," he whispered, "but I am the luckiest man alive."

………

When all was said and done, Bridget was quite glad that it hadn't rained on her wedding day after all, that a bit of upset stomach was all she'd had to endure. She was quite sure that she wouldn't be able to take much more than the current level of good luck she'd been given.

_The end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of interesting information (and be warned, some squicky photos) about [C-sections](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caesarean_section).


End file.
